


Fairytale of New York

by lolamit



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: 12daysofBOM, 1960s, Addiction, Angst, Christmas Eve, Drinking, Drug Use, Drugs, Emotional Hurt, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, New York City, Sexual Content, Slurs, bc ya know the good ol' days right, it's more implied tho but you get the drift, might add tags as we go who knows not me, most of which are homophobic/queerphobic but some (one or two) are racial, this is so different from anything i've written so be gentle with me pls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolamit/pseuds/lolamit
Summary: Day 11 of 12 Days of BOM. Based on Fairytale of New York (in case that wasn't obvious), and I might've missed where it said based on thetitle, so I've gone ahead and based it off the whole song. In which Kevin plays Shane MacGowan and Connor plays Kirsty MacColl.
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: 12 Days of Book of Mormon (2020)





	1. Prologue - 1974

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This was going to be a one-shot based on my favorite Christmas song but I got carried away. Because when don't I, really. 
> 
> Anyway, it's a lot angstier and darker than most of my stuff, so please check the tags before reading. I'll be adding tw's at the start of any chapter if necessary. Please let me know if I miss anything! It takes place in the 60s-70s, so there will be some slurs thrown about and maybe some outdated views (that are very much still around, bless the gods for bigots amirite). Mostly it's just me having no clue how people talked back in the day, don't @ me about that, I _know_.
> 
> The plan is to finish this short fic by New Year's, but don't hold me to that lmao. I hope y'all enjoy. Happy holidays!

_December 24th_  
_Price, Kevin_

Kevin pushed open the door to Paddy’s, the warmth from inside enveloping him as soon it closed behind him. Nostalgia hit as he walked up to the bar, years of memories etched into the worn wood. He wondered briefly if his name remained carved into the table of the furthermost booth, throwing a glance in its direction only to note it was occupied. Perhaps he was better off not knowing, keeping the answer as his own Schrödinger’s cat. There and not, all at once. 

It was years since he last stepped foot inside the bar, and the sights around reminded him of the not-so-distant past as though it was a forgotten era. His life flashing by, scenes of drunken adventures, midnight rendezvouses, cold nights, and warm people. A breath of smoke landed against his skin, the smell a dangerous invitation to vices he’d quit several times. But there was a familiarity to it, nonetheless. 

Taking a sweep of the room, there wasn’t much to indicate the holiday season, save for the tinsel in the windows. The jukebox was spinning the same old tracks, the muffled sound of Frank Sinatra barely reaching his ears over the bustle of buzzed patrons. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memories whisk him away as though it wasn’t Christmas Eve. As though it hadn’t been, twelve years ago when— 

“Let me guess.” A voice caught his attention, the corner of his mouth quirked upward instinctively. “Tom Collins?” 

Without missing a beat, Kevin said, “I can be whoever you want me to,” and turned around, stunned silent by the sight of one Connor McKinley. The name carved—or not carved—into the table next to his. 

“I’m afraid you don’t have to pretend with me,” Connor said, his smile as bright as he remembered it. “And I was talking about the order you haven’t placed yet.” 

Kevin watched with his mouth agape, suddenly struck by the dizzying notion of déjà vu before he managed to find his bearings again. The wry smile came easy, curling his lips the way he knew Connor wouldn’t be able to resist. “Is that an offer?” 

Connor arched a brow. “Still can’t pay for your own drinks, I see,” he noted, but the look in his eyes indicated he’d already taken the bait. Even after years apart, Kevin could read him as though no time had passed. As though he was still twenty and reckless, living life without a worry in the world. 

Connor had always managed to pull him down to earth. Sometimes he landed softly in the snow, other times, there was nothing but concrete to cushion his fall, leaving him sore and broken for weeks. But there was something about him, about Connor, that Kevin had never been able to let go. He’d been with so many men, many of whom he truly cared for, but there had always been something missing. Perhaps it was the thrill—however crass it sounded—of someone who matched him not only in heart but soul, too. Someone who understood the heavy burden of a conservative, religious upbringing, someone who contradicted himself in so many aspects it shouldn’t be possible. Someone who could stand here, after years and years of internal conflicts caused by constant pressure and prejudice from the world around, and _finally_ be okay. 

They weren’t a perfect fit, weren’t even a decent one at times, but there was no denying they were made to be in each other’s lives. And Kevin knew—though, really, he ought to move on—that he would take him back, whatever way, shape, or form Connor would have him. 

So, in an attempt to chase down the fleeting sensation of a fire once fanned, he said, “For old times’ sake?” and crossed his fingers that Connor would be only half as desperate as he was. 

It took him a moment—cautious eyes searching his face for answers— but then finally, Connor smiled, turned to the bartender, and said, “Another water, thank you,” nodding his head in Kevin’s direction before adding, “And whatever he’s having.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, _Price, Kevin_ has no reason to be written like that but the ~aesthetic~ tho


	2. Part One - 1962

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post the two first chapters at once since the prologue was so ridiculously short. So please, enjoy 1962!
> 
>  **TW: Some internalized homophobia and slurs.** Please let me know if I missed anything.

_December 24th_  
_McKinley, Connor_

New York City wasn’t at all like in the movies, and that was coming from someone who’d seen everything from _Citizen Kane_ to _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ as often as he could without getting caught. It was cold and dark, riddled with grit and grime, and people would bump into him left and right without so much as an acknowledgment of him being there. Connor felt invisible, and not in the sense he’d appreciated back in Utah. He thought this was the place where all his worries would wash away with the rainwater, down the drain and into the Hudson River, but instead, he felt more out of place than he ever had. 

It had been two weeks and he still hadn’t found a job. No restaurants wanted to hire him, and his auditions had all been train wrecks, one after the other. If he could just get a foot in somewhere—any door would do—then maybe he’d be able to stick around. Granted, his parents had been generous enough to send him off with funds to last him at least a year, but he wanted to be able to support himself. Especially considering his parents would be quick to take it back once he’d managed to do what he came here for. _If_ he managed, that is. Figuring his emotions out on his own wasn’t exactly the simplest thing, especially since some of those emotions were ones he wasn’t supposed to have. Just as he dreamt of things he shouldn’t want, longed for actions he shouldn’t take. 

He hadn’t told them about the acting, for reasons that, stacked on top of each other, transcended the tower of Babel. No, he’d said he wanted to make it big on Wall Street rather than Broadway, and he knew that as soon as the word was out, there’d be rumors spreading faster than the plague back in Salt Lake, about the queer Mormon who ran off to New York to live in sin. 

What’s worse was he didn’t have much of a defense, and the only way to keep his standing in the church would be to deny the feelings his entire being consisted of. That, or accepting the inevitable—his excommunication from the church. He’d be forced to live life as a sinner by default, dealt the short end of the stick the very day he was born. 

He tried to push those thoughts to the very back of his mind, hiding them underneath piles of lies and guilt. Two of the things he thought New York would tell him he didn’t need. But there was no one there to take him under his wing, no one to see the pain in his eyes and tell him to forget, forget, forget. There were cold people and dark alleyways, both of which scared him half to death. Perhaps it was the Mormon aura that emanated from him that put people off. Despite being the birthplace for the religion, New Yorkers hadn’t taken too kindly to Latter-Day Saints ever since. 

He shook his head, briefly spotting his reflection in the window, and cringed at the sight. A queer Mormon in his early twenties, desperate to find a community that would accept both parts of him, but aware that the two could never coexist. 

As his eyes came back into focus, he noticed a man walking by outside, catching his eye albeit barely before he disappeared into the dark. Connor leaned forward on his elbows, his head falling in his hands as he debated whether or not his dream of making it big in the city was worth it, and had it not been for the lull between songs pouring from the jukebox, he wouldn’t have heard the voice addressing him. 

“Let me guess.” His head snapped around fast enough to give him whiplash and landed on the very same eyes he’d met only moments before. “Irish?” 

By some miracle, he managed to croak out a laugh. “What gave it away, the ghost complexion or the ginger hair?” He knew he was feeding into stereotypes, but this was the first time he’d been approached in what seemed to be a flirtatious manner since he moved here, and he may have been just a smudge too eager. 

Whoever this guy was didn’t seem to mind his keenness though and took a seat on the barstool next to him. “Call it intuition,” he said, eyeing the glass cradled in Connor’s hands. “What’s your poison?” 

Connor faltered for a moment before the penny dropped, and he lifted the drink as if to showcase it. More to himself, if he were to be completely honest. “This? It’s just club soda.” 

“Well, that simply won’t do,” the man said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you here alone?” 

Connor felt his face flush at the question. If there was anything more pathetic than going to a bar to drink carbonated water on Christmas Eve, it had to be going to a bar to drink carbonated water on Christmas Eve _alone_. 

“Is it that obvious?” he asked for lack of an answer. 

“I had my suspicions.” The man laughed when Connor visibly cringed and extended his hand with a smile. “I’m Kevin. And hey, if it makes you feel any better, I’m riding solo too.” 

The lightest of contact managed to set Connor’s skin on fire, and the tingling lingered as Kevin held his hand just a beat longer than the social norm would recommend. “Connor.” 

Kevin smiled, a devilish grin that should frighten him more than entice but there was something about those dark eyes, dangerous and alluring, that simply made him impossible to resist. Connor had a feeling Kevin was used to getting his way, and who was he to break that pattern? 

“Connor,” Kevin repeated, as though feeling the name out. Connor could already imagine the many ways it could fall off Kevin’s tongue, hot and breathy. “Perhaps we could keep each other company, then?” 

It could’ve been the loneliness that made him cave so easily, the idea of having someone to talk to was far too tempting after weeks of nothing but soliloquies and awkward exchanges at the corner store. And Kevin Price could talk, it just so turned out, like a goddamned professional. He skirted around questions without missing a beat, turning the conversation around when it seemed they veered into sensitive territories, and Connor tried to follow along as best he could. He learned that Kevin wasn’t from New York originally, but that he moved here just about a month before Connor had. He learned that Kevin knew his way around a cocktail menu, ordering drinks Connor had never even heard of and offered to buy him more than he could possibly drink—Connor politely declined every time. He learned that Kevin spoke somewhat decent French and that it made Connor’s head spin when he leaned in closer, whispering a low _mon chéri_ in his ear. 

He hadn’t meant to—Heavenly Father, he hadn’t meant to let it go quite that far. Not to the point where he accepted a sip of Kevin’s Tom Collins. Not to the point where he let Kevin’s hand linger on his thigh. Not to the point where Kevin pulled him outside by the hand, attracting more than a couple of looks, and led him down the street, catching snowflakes on his tongue as they went and licking his lips when he caught Connor staring. 

Not to the point where Kevin stepped closer, under the glow of a dim streetlight on the corner of Broadway and 7th, and all Connor could muster was, “You’re bad news, aren’t you?” 

Kevin smiled. “I can assure you I’m neither bad nor news,” he said, and when Connor didn’t respond, continued, “What about you? I don’t buy this whole Good Samaritan act you’ve got going on.” 

It was a fair observation, Connor didn’t exactly have a moral leg to stand on in claiming he was, indeed, at the very least, a good, honest man, and yet he found himself saying, “I’m Mormon,” as Kevin took another step forward, effectively closing the distance between them. 

But Kevin stopped dead, and Connor realized then what a terrible mistake he’d made, before Kevin let out a soft laugh and cited, “O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.” 

Connor was stunned into silence, his mouth agape as he tried to find any words to offer in response. 

He found none, though, and the corner of Kevin’s mouth quirked as he watched him process. “Alma, 36:18.” 

“You’re—” 

“Mormon?” Kevin finished the question for him with an easy smile followed shortly by a shrug. “Not anymore.” 

And Connor didn’t know why but, at that moment, he needed Kevin more than he’d ever needed anything, and pushed himself against his body, lips pressing together with fervent urgency. Kevin seemed shocked for a second, but soon he was responding with every inch of his being—his mouth, his hands, his hips. Connor had never kissed anyone before. He’d only dreamed and fantasized under cover of night when he hoped God would take pity on him, and so at first, he didn’t understand why Kevin suddenly invited his tongue to the party but parted his lips with little persuasion. 

Moments later, Kevin pulled him along again, this time into a dark alley, and Connor thought there should be alarm bells going off in his head—his mother’s voice warning him about strange people and backstreets—but there was nothing but Kevin’s hands on his chest, pinning him against the wall behind a trash container, as if to really drive home how very shameful the scene playing out was. 

And oh, Heavenly Father, forgive him, forgive him for his weakness, for falling so easily to temptation. For answering Kevin’s silent request for permission with a tight nod as his fingers fiddled with the button above Connor’s fly. Forgive him for the way his entire body shuddered at the first touch, and the profanities that proceeded to escape his lungs shortly after. 

It was his first sexual encounter in, well, forever, and if their actions were ungodly then the sin was doubtlessly amplified by their lack of discretion. But Kevin’s hand was quick and rough, his touches persistent, and soon Connor was coming down from the high of letting a man touch him in ways condemned by everything he’s ever known. The sensation heightened by the freezing weather, his toes curling despite nearly turning to ice in his shoes while his chest fanned a flame he’d long tried to suffocate. 

He sucked in a breath, leaning his head against the brick wall as his vision blurred by the snowfall. Kevin was leaning into him, his lips soft against Connor’s jaw as he heard the distant ringing of church bells echo through the air, announcing midnight and the start of Christmas Day. He’d regret it tomorrow. He knew he would—the alcohol, the intimacy, the sins—everything, so if he ever were to allow himself a moment of rebellion, would he ever see a better opportunity than this? 

Kevin had already zipped him back up and was a few steps away when he must’ve noticed Connor wasn’t at his heel, and he turned back around with a wry smile. “Come on, I wanna show you something.” 

“Give me a sec,” Connor said, his breath caught in his throat. 

Kevin arched an eyebrow, slowly making his way back over. “That good, huh?” 

And Connor laughed—honest-to-God laughed, even after the utter debauchery he’d just been the center of. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he heard himself say, and felt his mouth mirror Kevin’s smirk. “I don’t exactly have much to compare it to.” 

Kevin pulled him along, across streets and through alleys, past Radio City Music Hall and Rockefeller Center until he stopped outside a jewelry store Connor recognized, but couldn’t quite place. _Henry Steig_. Where had he heard that name before? He looked over at Kevin whose gaze was pointed to the ground, and when his own eyes followed and he noticed the subway grate, the penny finally dropped. 

“You mentioned you liked Marilyn Monroe,” he said as Connor looked up to meet his eyes. “This is where the magic happened. The scene that rendered every American man a drooling mess.” Connor’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Kevin watched him closely as he added, “Even Mormons.” 

He nearly laughed, perplexed by the absurd notion that Kevin could stand there and accuse Connor of lusting after _The Girl_ as though he hadn’t accepted Kevin’s hand down his pants a mere half-hour ago. No, Connor liked her for the person she seemed to be off-screen, when she wasn’t only a personification of the male gaze, not reduced to a gender. 

And he might’ve had a thing for romantic comedies, so sue him. 

He didn’t feel like explaining that would change much, though, especially not since Kevin had already taken to exploring every inch of Connor with his eyes. And Connor let him, as he took a step forward onto the grates, feeling the warm breeze travel up his spine and he couldn’t help but pose, briefly, glancing over his shoulder to find Kevin watching with something between amusement and want. He caught Connor’s eye before coming up behind him, his breath hot against Connor’s neck as he whispered, “Baby, you’re a star.” 

It wasn’t the Christmas Eve he’d expected but it seemed when Connor, this time, pulled Kevin up the stairs to his tiny one-bedroom and barely even bothered to lock the door behind them, that it was what he’d needed for Christ knows how long. Kevin was gentler this time, slow and sweet, and Connor whispered words of affirmation in response that seemed to work Kevin over the edge. Connor had never slept so deeply and well as he did that night, with someone else’s arm wrapped around his middle, a nose buried in the short hairs on the nape of his neck. 

He wanted to stay like this forever, but his dreams were cut short when he awoke sometime before the sun had even risen and barely made it to the bathroom before he hurled. His stomach twisted, sending shockwaves of pain through his body, coursing through his veins like blood. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it was the guilt. He threw up again, and again, and again until he was certain there was nothing left inside him, and even then, his body kept convulsing, causing him to dry heave till his throat went sore. 

After some time, he made it back to bed where Kevin still slept quietly, and he took a moment to just watch him. He lay on his side, his chest rising and falling in time with his breaths. So peaceful, and so unperturbed by the commotion Connor had just made in the very next room. There was something innately calming about him like this, all bundled up in sheets, and such a contrast to the man he’d first met a couple of hours ago. Though Connor didn’t know him very well yet, he seemed different alone compared to in public, and Connor wondered which part was, if any, was the real Kevin Price. The flirtatious, fake-coy man he’d introduced himself as, or the quiet, peaceful semblance of a boy who had yet to grow into his life. They were the same age, Kevin a few months younger, and from what he’d been able to coax out of him, he hadn’t left home with quite the care package Connor had. 

It made him wonder, really. Because Kevin used to be, but no longer was, Mormon—which was strange enough as it was—and Connor couldn’t help but put two and two together. He wondered if they shared the same fate: having to choose between the church and their emotions. He suspected that Kevin had already made that choice; he worried someone had made it for him. 

After a while, he realized staring at a sleeping stranger was more than creepy and climbed back into bed beside him. Kevin was hogging all the covers, but Connor didn’t mind, he looked cute all bundled up, and it gave Connor an excuse to move closer. He wasn’t sure how, but he managed to get some more sleep, and the next time he woke, it was by Kevin stirring on the other side of the bed. With quiet movements, Connor rolled over, his eyes landing on Kevin’s back where he sat on the edge, pulling his socks back on. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, and Kevin yelped, clutching his chest as his head spun around. 

“Jesus,” he breathed, the hint of a laugh playing on his vocal cords. “You’re awake.” 

Connor pushed himself up on his elbows, inspecting the way Kevin was in the middle of dressing himself. “Were you leaving?” 

Kevin turned around, tucking one leg underneath him as he met Connor’s eyes with a sheepish smile. He reached back to scratch his neck as he said, “I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.” 

Connor closed his eyes, feeling his brows pull tightly together as he thought, looking back up at Kevin with pursed lips. “So this was just…” He couldn’t even find it in him to finish the sentence. He felt pathetic. 

“No, hey, look,” Kevin said, leaning forward and taking Connor’s hand in his, eyes sparkling in the morning light. “I’m just used to getting the boot, I thought it better to be safe than sorry.” 

Connor watched him; his brows still furrowed. 

Kevin must’ve noticed his confusion and explained, “Some guys only prefer men during the small hours.” He smiled then, still holding Connor’s hand and he seemed so sincere, so earnest. “But you’re different,” he said when Connor remained silent, reaching over with his other hand to brush a stray lock of hair from Connor’s face. The touch sent a shiver down his spine. “You’re kind.” 

“I’m Mormon,” Connor reminded, perhaps a little too quickly as Kevin huffed a laugh through his nose, and he didn’t mean for the next words to fall off his tongue, worried Kevin would interpret them as a dismissal, and yet he said, “I don’t exactly have a choice.” 

But for some reason, Kevin only smiled. “Of course you do,” he said. “Everyone does, and sure, it might be hell to make it but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” 

And then he remembered. Kevin was— _had been_ —Mormon once too. “You left?” he asked and hoped Kevin would connect the dots. 

With a shrug, he said, “Not so much left as was kicked out.” 

It was a stupid question; Connor knew he was as thickheaded and ignorant as they came for even asking. “Why?” 

Kevin looked at him with his brow arched, a smile playing on his lips as he gestured between them. “Have a guess, genius. The church has more opinions on who I chose to bed than on keeping blacks out of the priesthood. And they’re pretty strong-minded on that.” When Connor only frowned in response, Kevin added, “My family wasn’t any different.” 

“Your parents kicked you out?” 

Kevin pressed his tongue to his cheek as his eyes went blank, Connor watched him think. “Yeah,” came his conclusion, and Connor felt dumb for even attempting a sympathetic look. “But that’s LDS for ya.” 

“They’re not all bad,” Connor said, watching as Kevin’s eyes shifted from confused to curious. 

“That mean you’re out to your folks?” 

“God, no,” Connor laughed, because Lord knows, that was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. He shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he tried to think of how to explain that he’s a) not out to his family, b) not even out to himself, really, and c) mortified by the thought of doing either. “I’m not even… I’m figuring things out. First.” 

Kevin nodded a few times, his lips pressed together in thought. “Sure,” he said, in a tone that sounded genuinely understanding. Then the corner of his mouth curled into a wry smile, the same one he’d worn at the bar the night before. Connor’s legs turned to jelly, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks that he was lying down. “You, uh. You need any help with that?” 

He felt his lips quirk, involuntarily again. Kevin’s effect on him was unparalleled to anything he’d felt before. “I thought you were leaving.” 

Kevin half-shrugged, pretending to mull it over before saying, “I can stick around for a while,” and as though that wasn’t enough to make Connor squirm already, he added, in a lower voice and with hooded eyes, “If you’ll have me.” 

Connor watched him with bated breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Good Chapter, things are about to get a lot rockier but we'll get to that. If you liked it, both kudos and comments are welcome and appreciated. But y'all know that already
> 
> Thank you for reading, and happy holidays!


End file.
